What Are You Wearing?
by ShakespeareIsMyMuse
Summary: The story of how Steve McGarrett got into Danny Williams' pants.


**SHAKESPEAREISMYMUSE**

**I, ShakespeareIsMyMuse, do so solemnly swear that I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any of its affiliates, which includes: any familiar story plots, creation of original characters belonging to the show, cast and crew. Rights, property and ownership belong rightfully and wholly to CBS and its Original Creator: Leonard Freeman (1920-1974), also to reboot creators: Peter M. Lenkov, Alex Kurtzman, and Robert Orci.**

**I, ShakespeareIsMyMuse, do however claim ownership of any unrecognizable characters and portions* of the formation of plot that follows. Any invention or similarity of any character or plot line (unless otherwise noted –see previous*) that is seen here after represented really or fictitiously, alive or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional.**

***Portions of this story is commingled with actual cannon plot line of the rebooted version of the show ****Hawaii Five-0 (2010)**** and edited together to create the following fictitious story line.**

*Exhales* I hope that about covers everything. *Cracks Neck* Now, on with the story; that is if you're still here.

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**What Are You Wearing?**

**SUMMARY:** The story of how Steve McGarrett got into Danny Williams' pants.

**WARNING:** The "F" word is used twice and the "S" word once within the contents of this story.

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**Phase One:**

"_What are you wearing_?" Lieutenant Commander Steve McGarrett asked in disbelief that even among the confines of a causal dress code Detective Danny Williams would show up with a bag of malasadas (which, aside from a few health issues, didn't bother him that much) and _**a tie**_.

"What?" Danny asked, his mouth half full, accepting an offered napkin.

"No one in Hawaii wears a tie," Steve told him, while brushing away the crumbs from the sugary snack off of the dining room table.

"Oh, I'm sorry;" the detective's tone was mocking, "I like to look like a professional."

Curious to the answer the professional sailor asked, "A professional what?"

Agitated, the detective faced the sailor, "Okay, this," he held up the neck noose, "is _my favorite_ tie. Grace gave me this tie for Father's day and for your information," he pointed, "where I come from, _every single detective, in every normal city, in this country looks like this._"

"_What_?" skepticism filled the SEAL's voice, "Shirt, pressed trouser pants, tie and, uh, _doughnut crumbs_? You missed a spot," Steve pointed to the collection of crumbs on Danny's shirt; which Danny promptly brushed off before glaring. The brunette held up his hands up in surrender, "All I'm saying is… you're never going to fit in around here looking like you're from the mainland."

Bolting up from his spot to face the taller man, Danny became defensive, "_Who says I want to fit in? Maybe I want to look like I'm from the mainland_. _I've got eighty-seven closed homicides_ under my belt dressed like this."

"And it might just stay that way, because in one hundred and ten degree weather it's going to get to be a bit of a challenge. I'm just saying."

"_**I'm not taking off the tie**_," Danny finalized and then barked, "What are you going to pick on next, my shoes?"

"Well…" Steve looked down at Danny's shoes, "black patent leather loafers? …on the sweltering tar drenched by the blistering Hawaiian sun?"

The blonde's annoyed gaze and frown, deepened.

**Phase Two: **

"I take it you're a member of the law enforcement community?" the questioned man asked.

Danny wondered, "What gave it away?"

"You're wearing a tie, brah_, __**in Hawaii**_," he replied.

McGarrett held tight to a smirk, refusing to let it loose especially with the threat of death from the dagger glare currently being cast by referenced law enforcement member in the tie.

**Phase Three:**

"_Please don't make me wear __**flowers**__,_" Danny begged.

Exasperated, "Just put them on, Danny," Steve ordered.

"Alright, alright," the blonde conceded, "I'll do it, but I'm not going to be happy about it."

"And take the tie off," Steve pointed to his partner's neck, "_**no one**_ on a cruise ship wears a tie."

"_**Oh, yes they do**_. They do all the time," the detective informed as he hurried to keep up with boss' pace, "so they can hang themselves when they're bored." Danny held an imaginary noose high above his head.

"Okay," Steve sighed—resigned, and nodded, "well put it in your pocket and you can kill yourself later."

A deep growl emitted from the back of Danny's throat as he loosened his Windsor knot and yanked the tie from his neck.

**Phase Four: **

From the driver's seat of the van, Steve occasionally glanced over and would allow a smiled to slip in Danny's general direction.

"_**What**__ are you smiling about over there_?" Danny spat, finally fed up with the SEAL, his goofy grin and this way too long drive to the rendezvous point.

"The no tie thing," Steve smirked again, "I like it."

Danny looked down at his open collar and empty chest, "Yeah, well don't get used to it," he absently mindedly smoothed out the blank space.

**Phase Five:**

Danny sat down at the glass partition in the visitors section of Halawa State Correctional Facility and picked up the receiver. On the other side— clad in an orange jumpsuit, sat his partner with a self-satisfied look on his face and a grin on his lips. It irritated Danny to almost no end, "_What_?" he demanded, and "_What are you smiling about_? _You're in jail….__**for murder**_."

"The no tie thing;" Steve nodded approvingly, "it looks good on you, babe."

Danny looked down and then back up. Pinching the collar of his dress shirt he informed his imprisoned friend, "Well, this…there is no dress code for an out of work cop, so…" he shrugged.

Steve just continued to smile.

**Phase Six:**

Steve walked past Danny's open office door; the detective sat in his office chair lacing up a pair of old white sneakers. Leaning against the door frame, Steve asked "What are you wearing?"

Danny looked up slowly, a glare firmly etched into his features, "Sneakers," he voice spiked with annoyance.

Confused, the SEAL wondered, "Why?"

Sighing grumpily, Danny reached underneath his desk and slammed down a pair of black patent leather loafers. Steve's eyes widened in surprise; he had vaguely remembered earlier that there had been some shouting about a favorite pair of shoes being _**"fucked and not in the good sense", **_but he had just assumed that Danny was being Danny—going off on one of his long winded rants when he gets annoyed about chasing a perp, up a tar hill, in ninety degree heat.

The tops and bottoms of the loafers were barely attached to one another. The laces had been completely shredded on both shoes; not to mention they also looked like a puppy had spent the afternoon teething on them— they had splits and cuts and holes galore. On the left one, the back heal had completely separated and chunks of the rubber had been gouged away. The right one had the entire top half of the leather missing, leaving the well-worn inner sole exposed.

Steve threw his partner a sympathetic look, while at the same time trying to cover up the smirk that was dying to break free. Unfortunately, it wasn't working. "Ooo. I tried to tell you man, patent leather loafers and the sweltering tar drenched by the blistering Hawaiian sun _**just do not**_ mix."

Pissed, Danny picked up the ruined loafers and hurled them at the man in the doorway. However, the SEAL proved to have lightening quick reflexes and managed to disappear out of view as the shoes rolled to a stop across the hall.

Deeming it safe that the blonde was out of _'weapons'_, Steve stuck his head back in the doorway, laughing a bit, "Do you want to have a proper service for them or just toss them in the dumpster?"

Not receiving a vocal answer, he ducked just in time to avoid an orange and yellow Nerf football to the face. Scooping up the shoes he lightly tossed the football back into the office and pulled the door shut, giving the Jersey import some time to _'mourn'_.

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The following morning had Steve passing Danny in the hall, noticing an improved mood and a slight bounce in his step. Glancing down he saw that the detective had on a brand new pair of black sneakers. "_What are you wearing…on your feet?_" he dared to ask, fully expecting the snap of an angry alligator, but was stunned to find a tone coated with only mild annoyance.

"_Sneakers, Steven_, they are called _sneakers_. People have been wearing them since eighteen ninety two. I know they're not combat boots, but perhaps you've heard of them?"

"I am quite familiar, thank you, but what I don't understand is why are _**you**_ wearing them? Was the shoe store all out of leather loafers?"

"For starters, my loafers were irreplaceable…"

"And secondly?" the Navy man prompted.

"Secondly, my back and my feet were killing me from that triathlon hike up hill and they _make me feel better_. Which is not only a good thing, but a necessity, because I know before long I'll be climbing up a volcano or scaling the side of a building or seeing how fast we can sprint from one end of Oahu to the other because some idiot, somewhere, is just dying to match wits against Iron Man over here," he gestured to his partner. "_Is that __**alright **__with you?_"

A smile crept up over the SEAL's face as he stared at his friend standing in front of him, sans tie and dressed in laced sneakers.

"What is with the goofy grin?" Danny demanded.

Immediately, Steve straightened his face out, "What?", and back tracked, "Sure thing, Danno, that's great," before hurrying off to his meeting with the Governor.

**Phase Seven:**

"_What __**the hell**_ _is this_?" Danny pointed up and down at Steve's wardrobe. "_No. No. __**No**_**.** The last time you dressed up like a ninja and went gallivanting off into the night, _**by yourself**_, a nut job tasered you from behind, framed you for murder and you spent **a week** in jail!"

"I know; that's why I hope these fit." Danny caught the large duffle bag that Steve hurled at him with a slight grunt.

Unzipping the bag, he lifted out a pair of jet black, steel toed combat boots and a soft full head and face mask. The remaining contents of the bag were all black as well and rounded out with loose fitting, light weight armor cargo jeans, a breathable snug fit top, a full upper body Kevlar armor jacket, form fitting latex lined lax leather and mesh knit grip gloves; a shit load of weapons, ammunition, attachment holsters and one of the most intricate harness, rope and pulley systems Danny had ever seen.

Staring back and forth between the boots and the mask, Danny's gaze finally settled on his partner with an _'are you kidding me?'_ look, but the pressed expression in Steve's eyes gave him his answer. The detective closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose; when he opened them again he found the brunette's lips laced with a smile and tapping his wrist, "_Tick, tock_, babe."

Sighing heavily, the blonde nodded, "Okay," and began swapping his normal every day wear for his new ninja suit.

**Phase Eight:**

Danny felt as if he had just laid down when his bleary, bloodshot eyes forced their way back up at the sound of his cell phone ringing— _and vibrating_— annoyingly against the surface of his bedside table. Blindly groping towards the sound, the detective finally located his cell and without looking at the display screen, pressed the answer button, "Detective Williams...oh, hi, Steve," he mumbled, half asleep, his mind only barely interested in trying to decipher the strange background sounds, "…_another one_? Can't these people **just go to bed**? ...Okay, I'll be there in twenty, babe."

This time Danny's heavy hand found the switch to the bed side lamp as he hoisted his weight into a sitting position and reached for the semi-wrinkled button down he had tossed onto the end of the bed not forty minutes before. As he grabbed for his pants, the blonde suddenly remembered—and stuck his whole fist through—the nearly six inch long rip that ran from mid-way down the thigh to the knee.

Sighing, he glanced at the clothes hamper in the corner piled high with dirty laundry. It was twenty to four in the morning and he didn't have time to deal with the mess so he tossed the pants into the corner; one more pair wasn't going to make a huge difference.

His dresser offered slim pickings in the way of professionalism so he just grabbed the first pair of jeans at hand and pulled them on. Scooping up his badge, car keys, cell phone, gun and wallet, Danny stuffed his feet into his sneakers and walked out the door.

When he arrived at the scene the exhausted blonde tried to hoist his weight out of the front seat, but only got as far as leaning most of himself against the partially open driver door. Even hearing unknown footsteps approach and stop wasn't enough to rouse the man, but the scent that filled his nose— hazelnut and cinnamon—caused his eyes to perk just the slightest. It suddenly hit him as to where Steve had been calling from when he heard all of those strange noises in the background.

"You look like hell," a red rim eyed Steve chirped, all chipper and happy. Danny assumed that the man who normally avoided high quantities of caffeine had been sipping one of the triple shot espresso cappuccinos he smelled.

Danny peeked up at him with one eye and mumbled, "Why don't you hunch over a few more inches and take a good look in that mirror," as he barely pointed at the side view mirror. Steve chuckled as he freed one of three remaining cups from the half empty tray in his hand and handed it over.

"I'm impressed, hardly no sleep for almost thirty six hours and you managed to remember your wallet?" Danny joked by way of a _'thank you' _as he gratefully accepted the coffee and finished pulling himself out of the car.

Steve's caffeine induced smile grew and he shrugged. "It was kind of hard not to when I answered **it** first instead of my phone."

Danny laughed this time and then stopped as he smelled something else, "Peppermint?"

"Peppermint and Jasmine green tea, Max isn't a huge fan of coffee, remember?"

Pausing mid-step the detective thought for a second before realizing that the SEAL was right, Max did prefer tea to coffee. "Oh, yeah, that's right, but, I guess what I'll always remember first was that Steve McGarrett was very thoughtful for once and voluntarily brought coffee at four A.M."

"Sleep deprivation does strange things to me."

"I guess I'll have to summon the practice more often, then."

Both men laughed as they walked towards the spotlights that surrounded Max and their latest victim. When they were close enough to the equipment that they were fully drenched in light, Steve reached out and stopped Danny by the shoulder.

"What?" he wondered as the Navy man gave him an odd once over.

"Danno, what…" Steve noticed the— now semi-wrinkled –button down he had had on earlier in the day and the new denim addition, "…are you wearing…jeans?"

"Well, between keeping regular work hours with the normal dirt-bags and after work hours with these crazies that always seem to have us rolling all over the ground, a couple of pairs of pants are pretty fucked up and the rest…I just haven't had time to do laundry, okay?"

Steve chuckled a bit and nodded, "Okay."

"And this may just be the sleep deprivation talking, but the jeans actually do feel more comfortable to be trotting all over the place in than my other pants."

"They must be wonderful company for your nice, comfy sneakers?" Steve teased.

Danny tried to throw his friend a dirty look, but he was just too tired, so he sipped his triple shot espresso cappuccino blend instead; hoping to soon catch a caffeine high. This time, Steve flat out laughed at the motions.

"The semi-casual Friday look works well on you, babe. If we could just get this guy, you could lose the raccoon imitation underneath your eyes and pass for a Calvin Klein model. You know, tousle your hair a bit, undo a few buttons…show off that nice Chewbacca chest of yours?" Steve lightly punched him on the arm and smiled wide.

The blonde laughed lightly, rolled his eyes and shook his head as he moved closer to Max and their victim; the SEAL in tow.

**Phase Nine**

Commander McGarrett walked over towards the back of his truck. The under carriage was coated in scraps of moss and foliage and a thick layer of mud, however that was nothing compared to how some of the members of Five-0 looked. Steve's face had small cuts and scratches all over it, his hair was now home to many smaller broken pieces of twigs, leaves and possibly minute creatures, and he had dirt and grass stains all over his cargo pants and his t-shirt was coated with mud—his button down snagged somewhere in a pricker bush deep within the jungle.

Detective Williams looked —considerably— worse, his hiking boots were caked up to the ankles in mud, and Steve was positive that more had run inside due to the _'squish'_ sound his footsteps made with each step. His blonde hair was completely matted, sweated and leaned more towards a dark brown color. The right side of his face was scraped up from cheek to chin, with dried, oozed blood finally clotting over. And his normally neat and clean button down –or what was left of it— was shredded beyond mend. It literally hung around Danny's neck by the collar, the left sleeve and what made up the front lapel part was practically string confetti; his back and his right arm lay exposed to the elements. However, his new pair of outdoor elemental-wear jeans had held up well; they barely showed any signs of grime and what was there seemed to slide right off with each step.

You see, Danny had been the one to spot their suspect deep within the jungle, and when he announced himself the suspect took off running. This, in turn, caused the good detective to give chase and then tackle the suspect. Unfortunately, that tackle landed the two of them straight down the side of a fifteen foot, forty five degree angle jagged rock edge; leaving the right side of Danny's shirt and the suspect taking most of the damage.

Steve, not carrying or wrestling an extra one hundred and sixty pounds managed to stay—mostly upright— as he ran/slid down the hill after them. Interestingly enough, the island cousins had –somehow—managed to stay completely clean throughout the whole ordeal.

Kono shoved the guy into the back seat of the Traverse; ordering him to shut up and stop complaining otherwise she'd let him ride with the _irate_ detective and his _'psychotic'_ partner. She got into the back seat with him as Chin threw a sympathetic look to the filth covered men and climbed into the driver's seat.

Steve flipped open the storage box in the Silverado's bed and pulled out a couple of towels. Wiping his face with one, he tossed the other to his partner who was attempting to clean the wilderness off of his exposed skin.

Halfway through swapping out his muck covered t-shirt, Steve gave a low _cuckoo_ sounding whistle. Danny looked up at the sound just in time to catch the clean white t-shirt that has been flung his way. Not even bothering to undo the buttons, Danny just took his knife, cut the back of the collar and stripped what was left of his shirt; the tee, aside from being a little long, fit him just fine.

Though t-shirts weren't his preferred choice of work attire, the blonde had to admit that the clean, dry one felt much more comfortable.

**Phase Ten:**

Danny walked into Five-0's HQ carrying a tray of coffee atop a box of sweets balanced in one hand and dragged huge black garbage bag in the other; he noticed his colleges were in the bull pen and headed in that direction.

"Morning." Chin smiled as he opened the door for Danny and eyed him up and down as he helped relieve him of his cargo. Danny semi-flung the laden bag towards one corner of the room as he made his way over to his friends.

"Hi," Kono said—by the looks of it bored to death—from the rolling chair that she was spinning round and round in.

"Hey," Steve answered without looking up.

"Morning," Danny answered back as he handed out the coffee. Chin set the bakery box down as he now eyed his boss, waiting to see how long it would take for him to notice; Kono too, stopped spinning in her chair and stared as she accepted the cup.

If Danny noticed the stares from the cousins, he didn't acknowledge it; he just grabbed a malasada from the box and walked over next to his partner. Placing the tray of coffee down between them he peered at the electronic file on the smart table that Steve was staring at.

"What are you looking at?" Danny asked as he chewed.

"I was just checking something from an old case, I thought we might have missed something, but it was nothing and didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?" Steve wondered as he reached for the coffee and turned to look at his friend. The cup was half way to his mouth before he put it down again, slowly.

"What? Did I spill something?" Danny asked with his mouth full and looking down at his shirt.

"_What are you wearing_?"

Danny looked down at himself once more. He had on a blue and white three quarter sleeved baseball tee, fitted charcoal carpenter jeans and a pair of black sneakers. The look was completely pulled together by his holstered weapon on his right hip and his badge clipped to his belt by his left. When he looked up for a second time, he had swallowed, shrugged and answered, "Clothes?"

Chin and Kono exchanged a smirk as Steve asked, "Since when don't you wear _'professional attire'_?"

Danny held up a finger, retrieved the gargantuan black garbage bag and opened it towards his friends to show its contents. The gang immediately covered their noses at the stench that wafted out of the bag. "Since my _'professional attire'_ started looking like it belonged to a hobo. What?" Danny looked around at the three of them standing in colorful, comfortable fitting tops and jeans and cargo pants and yoga leggings and calf high boots and sneakers and steel toed Doc Martins, "did you suddenly decide to change the casual dress code?"

"_**Ugh**__, __**what **__is that __**smell**_?" Kono slid further back in her office chair, in an attempt to get away from the stench.

"That, my dear, is the wonderful aroma of _raw sewage_," the detective smiled. "My place still kind of smells like this."

"_Why didn't you __**wash**__ those_?" Steve moved to help Chin open the windows.

"Why waste water washing what's about to join the landfill? I just came to grab what's in my locker and then I was going to dump it out back since they're going to be emptying the dumpsters in about an hour. They already cleared out the trash at my place and if this spends and entire week sitting in the sun, the smell is only going to get worse. People might actually think there's a dead body in here."

"Wait a minute, you're trashing your entire wardrobe?" Steve leaned against window to breathe better as he watched gratefully his partner tying the bag shut.

"Yep."

"You're _entire New Jersey_ wardrobe, the one that secured you your first _**eighty seven**_ homicides?"

"Yes, Steven, I am throwing out all of my old clothes and I bought entirely new ones." Danny said as he returned with his locker contents and allowed them to join the garbage.

Steve smiled as he put his ringing cell phone to his ear, "McGarrett…on our way. Come on, kama'aina we've got to go to work," Steve told his partner as he grabbed the other end of the large trash bag and helped him lift it.

"What's wrong now? You don't like my new style?" Gripe creeping into Danny's voice as they walked down the hall, dragging the bag behind them.

"We'll call if we need you," the SEAL called over his shoulder to the island natives who stayed behind smirking. "Danno, _I love_ you're new style. It's only taken five years, but you finally look like you fit in around here."

"I'm on island time, babe, I thought everything moved at a slower pace around here…that is, everything except _you_." Steve slowed his pace as they made their way to the dumpsters around back.

"So, _you_ don't mind fitting in?" Steve wondered as they hoisted the black bag to the dumpster's edge.

"I live here, don't I?" Danny replied as the two gave a final shove to the_— late—_ east coast wardrobe.

The Navy retiree smiled as they approached the new, upgraded, Camaro. "Admit it; Hawaii grew on you, didn't it?"

Danny returned the smile, " 'Oukou mehe ola, hoaloha, 'oukou mehe ola_*****_," and tossed the car keys high into the air. Steve caught them with ease and his smile grew— he knew he could get Danny to come around …eventually; just as he had once gotten him to toast to Hawaii.

Now, if he could only get him to try a slice of Hawaiian Pizza.

Hey, it could happen.

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Muse's Notes:

(Not the Best) Hawaiian to English Translation (but the gist of it):

**[**_*****_**And you as well, my beloved friend, and you as well]**

_Oh, now __**come on**__, when I said Steve was going to get into Danny's pants, what exactly were __**you **__thinking? Naughty, naughty._

Lol.

; p

PS: My apologies to "jlopie", to whom I notified, many, many months ago, that another "Rule" story was in the early writing stages. She threatened that I and I quote "better be a fast typer" and I feel ashamed that I have disappointed her; my apologies. I am still currently working on "Rule Number Three", it has a partial beginning, middle and end, but I am having a hard time finishing the flesh out. But fear not, it will one day be completed and available for your reading pleasure. I just need your patience. Thank You.

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-It is with a light and open heart, along with a great deal of anticipation that you, my reader, enjoy my work, just as with all my writing, it really means a great deal to me.

-Reviews and/or constructive criticism are not required here, but are always welcome.

-Flames are not required nor are they welcome; and while I cannot stop you from posting them, I will warn you, I usually don't take them to heart.

Love, Hugs, and Kisses,

Muse : )


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